“DOWN TOSLEEP."
November woods are bare and still;
November days are clear and bright :
Each noon burns up the morning's chill;
The morning's snow is gone by n'ght
Each day my steps grow slow, grow light,
As through the woods I reverent creep,
Watching all things lie “down to sleep.”
I never knew befors what beads,
Fragrant to smell, aud soft to touch,
The forest sifts and shapes and spreads;
I never knew before how much
Of human sound there is in such
Low tones as throagh the forest sweep
When all wild things lie “down to sleep.”
Each day I find new coverlids
Tucked in, and more sweet eyes shut tight;
Sometimes the viewless mo’ her bids
Her ferns kneel down, full in my sight;
1 hear their chorus of “good night}
And half I smile, and hall [ weep, -
Listening while they lie “down to sleep.
November woods are bare and st{i!;
November days are height and :
Life's noes barns up life's morning ehill;
Life's might rests feet which long have stood ;
Some warm, soft bed, in fleid or wood,
The mother will not fall to keep, =
Where we can lay us “down tosleep. nH
THE HAUNTED VIOLIN.
TRANSLATED BY ISABEL SMITHSON,
Karl Hafitz had devoted six years to
the study of counterpoint and to the
works of Haydn, Gluck, Mozart, Beet-
hoven and Rossini; he was blessed with
good health, and an ample fortune en-
abled him to indulge his artistic tastes;
in fact, "he possessed every requisite
for the production of great musical
compositions, excepting the indispen-
sable one—inspiration.
Every day or two he presented him-
self, full
teacher Albertus Kilian, and displayed
a large score, which was indeed har-
the hearer of some other composition.
Master Albertus, seated in his great
arm-chair with his feet on the andirons,
his elbow on the table, and a pipe in
his mouth, calmly struck out phrase
after phrase of his pupil's work, and
when Karl, almost crying with wvexa-
tion, exclaimed and objected, the old
man quietly opened one of his number-
less musie- books, pointed toa passage
and said.
“Look here, my boy."
Then Karl bowed his head and felt
like giving up in despair.
One morning, however, he brought
fantasia of Baccherini with variations
from Viotti, and the master’s patience
gave out completely.
“Karl Hafitz, do you fake me fora
donkey?” he cried; ‘do you suppose
that I cannot see through your urn-
worthy thefts? Really, this is too
much!” Then, seeing consternation mn
know how it is Karl, your memory
cheats you—you mistake recollection
for invention. The trouble is, you are
too fat; the wine you drink is so good
and all your fare so rich that your in-
tellect is dulled. You must starve
yourself.”
“Starve!” repeated the pupil in as
tonishment.
“Or else give up music,” said his
master, ‘science you have, but ideas
are uaing, and that is not to be won-
dered =, or awn your violin resis
upon a heap of fat, how can you expect
the strings to vibrate?”
A look of intelligence gleamed in
Earls eyes, and he exclaimed earn-
ly.
“[ will not shrink from any sacrifice,
I will grow thin, at all costs, even
though 1 become consumptive.”
bertus embraced his pupil in delight,
and bade him God , and the next
day, Karl Hafitz set out, bag ana staff
in hand, to take a long journey. He
walked all over Switzerland, but at
end of six weeks, in spite of a consider-
able reduction 1n his weight,
tion was as far from him as before,
*“Who could be more miserable than
I?” he thought, ‘“‘neither fasting nor
feasting makes my spirit rise to the
diapason of the sabli What have I
done to deserve such a cruel fate? A
lot of lazy idiots are able to produce
musical works while I, with all wy
science, my work and my courage
amount to nothing. Ah, is un-
just}
He was now walking along the road
between Bruck and Friboure; night
was coming on, and the traveller was
ready to drop mith Saddenly
be saw in the moonlight an old tum-
ble-down with ernmbling chim-
neys, a disjointed door, and broken
window-panes. The wind eame howl.
ing desolately over the surroun
heath, and rustied the brambles
thistles that grew ronnd the door.
“It does not look very inviti in
fact, quite the Sout, Aeaticvry Jey
“but one must not judge by a -
ances,” and without a moment's Einit
tion he Haphed at the door,
“Who is there? What do you
asked a gruff voice from wi
*f want supper and a night's lodg-
want?”
next minute the door opened, anda
grey-haired man appeared. Oo wee
wrapped in a large cloak and held a
large hatchet in one hand and behind
him, the fire-light displayed the bare
broken walls of the roon, and a ladder
leading to the loft obove. ng
cotton
ing
n, hoe black ayes which were
upon the , WOTS AD express
jon of min, fear and sadness.
“Come in,” said the man, ‘it is not
the weather for in the door:
way.”
firmly, bat
“You have no cheese even?”
*No, Sir.”
“Nor butter?”
“No."
“Nor bread-nor milk?"
“No.”
“What on earth have you, then?"
“Nothing, Sir, excepting a few roast
potatoes,”
A% that moment, Karl eaught sight of
a whole family of hens 100sting on the
rungs of the ladder; there were white,
black and red hens, some with their
heads under their wings, others with
their heads sunken in their feathers,
busily pluming itself.
“Surely you have eggs!” said the
hnngry traveller, but the landlord an-
ey
“We took them all to market at
Bruck this morning.”
“Then cook one of your fowls—*‘be-
gan Karl, but he bad hardly uttered
the words when the young girl rushed
foward the ladder, her face paler than
over, and her hair dishevell
“No, no!” she cried ‘you shall not
touch my hens—you shall not kill God's
creatures.”
Her voice and look were so wild that
{ “No, of course we must not
them. We can eat potatoes—I am de-
| voted to potatoes,” and after a moment
| he added eagerly, “My good man, I
| will stay here for along time; this is
| just the place I have been seeking, I
{ will stay three months,—six months—
I am thin as a fakir!’
| He was so excited that the old man
stared at him in wonder, and then
i whispezad to the girl:
{ “1.00
has taken possession of him!"
ney and scent a column of gray smoke
to the ceiling; the hens seemed to be
dancing on the ladder, and the girl be-
gan to sing a quaint tone in a wild
piercing voice, while the green wood
in the fire seemed to shed tears as it ac-
companied her with its plaintive sighs.
Karl Hafitz decided that he had got
into a sorcerer’s den, but he ate two
large potatoes and drank water out of
ared jug, and then he perceived that
the girl bad disappeared.
“Now I will go to bed,” he said after
a pause and his host lighted a lamp and
led the way up the ladder, opening the
trap-door with his head.
“There is your bed,” said the old
man when they had entered a garret
under the sloping roof, ‘sleep well,
and take care not to set the house
on fire.”
| He put the lamp on the floor, and
' and Hafitz sat down on the great feath-
er bed, and reflected. He wondered
if it would be prudent to allow him-
self to fall eep in this strange
abode, and was recalling to his
' mind the hollow grey eyes, thin bluish
{lips surrounded by deep wrinkles,
spare long forehead and sallow skin
of his host, when it saddenly oceur-
red to him that, sa few days before,
he bad passed on the road three g b-
bets and that the face of one of the swiug-
| ing corpses bore a strong resemblance
| to the man who had just left him. He
had learned that the wretched crea-
; ture’s name was Melchior, that he had
been a musician, and that he had killed
in a fit of an an inn-keeper who had
, insisted on payment of a few crowns
| due am,
| Karl Hafitz had often played Mel-
chior’s Sompouitions and been so
| fascinated by their fantastic beauty
that he had envied him his genius
Now, however, a shudder passed over
kim, and he seemed to look once more
jon the ghastly figure swinging in the
{ wind with garments fluttering, and a
it. Asheg
fully
old violin hanging ou the wall, and
| surmounted by two withered palm
branches. At the sight a sort of paais
seized him, and he bad started up as If
to By from the place when he heard the
gruff voice of his host i
“Put out the light, and go to sleep!
You will burn the house down!”
Hurriedly Karl obeyed, and then
threw himself upon the bed, resolvi
however, that he would not close h
eyes. The wind moaned Jitecusly,
night-birds called to each in
darkness, little mice crept out alon
the worm eaten floor, and in spite o
| his determination Karl was lulled into
i slumber,
At one o'clock in the morning he
was suddenly awakened ty hearing a
deep bitter sob, and a cold sweat broke
| out upon his face as he started up and
looked towards the end of the loft
| There, under the sloping roof,a man was
Crouching. It was Melchior, the mur-
{ derer! His chest and neck were bare,
' and his black hair was falling over his
: ; be was so thin that he
lool like the skeleton of a
, grasshopper; a moonbeam that
| $hrough the dormer window gave him
a bluish hue, and all around him hung
the spiders’ broad webs,
While Karl in silent awe and
wonder, the skeleton stretched out a
| long gaunt arm, and seizing the violin
. from the wall laid it against his shoul.
, der and began to play.
| Abfirst the masic was funereal—sad
as the sound of the earth falling upon
| the coffin of a beloved one; solemn as
round him half fear-
!
———
While he was speaking a harsh voice
from below cried out:
“What is the matter with yon, up
there? Are you ill, or is the house on |
fire?” |
There was a sound of heavy footsteps |
| on the ladder, a light shone through!
i the cracks in the floor, the trap opened,
and the old man appeared.
i *Ah, my host, what does this mean?’
oried Karl, “sublime music raises me
| to the seventh heaven one minute, and |
| departs like a dream, the next!” The
! man was thoughtful for a few minutes
and muttered half inandibly:
“I ought to have foreseen it. Mel-
chior has been here again—will he al-
ways return?” Then he added, “‘come,
friend, you will get no more sleep to-
j night; come down and smoke a pipe
with me.”
| Karl needed no urging, but harried:
i ly went down the ladder, and sitting
| with his elbows on bis knees and his
head in his hands was soon lost ine
reverie, while the old man rekindled
the fire and taking his seat on the other
side of the hearth smoked his pipe in
silence.
At last the gray dawn peered in
through the tiny windows, the cock
erowed, and the hens gravely hopped
' down the ladder, one step at a time,
! I'he traveller buckled on his bag,
took up his stick, and asked of his
host:
| “What do I owe you?”
With a strange look the man replied:
“Yon owe me one prayer in the
ehapel of St. Blaise for the soul of my
son, Melchi-r, who was hanged, and
another prayer for his betrothed wife, |
Genevra, mad with grief.”
“Is that ali?”
“That is all.”
“Farewell then, I shall not forget.”
“I'rue to his word Karl went straight |
tothe chapel in Friboarg, and prayed |
for the unhappy artist and for the wo- |
man who loved him. Then he hurried .
to an inn, called for a bottle of wine, |
spread ont his music paper, wrote at |
the top of the first page, Tur HavNTED |
Vionix, and completed at one sitting, |
his first ova ul musical ecomposi- |
tion. EnceMans CHATRIAN,
PECULIAR ANIMALS.
Burdette Subscribes to the Truth,
of This Account. |
A writer in Harper's Magazine says |
that a horse when tied in the stable
should “always be kopt with his head |
#0 that he may see the passers by and :
the other horses, and thus amuse and
occupy himsell.” That is a good plan, ;
says Bob Burdette, but I think mine is |
still better. [I have never noticed him |
“politely passing hay" to the other
horses in the stable, but possibly that
is because there are no other horses. !
I have frequently obser: ed him divid- |
ing his outs with the hens, which is]
much the same thing.” And be has the
hay fever, justlike *folks.” Yes, in-
deed. Butl was going to speak about
making provision for his hours in the |
stable. When he is to be lelt alone
any length of time, we always place |
the morning paper, a copy of the Na- |
tion and a late inagazine or two in his i
feed box, and he looks over them with
great interest. On one occasion he seo
plainly resented my taking away a
late magazine, a number containing |
1
3
some wouaderful stories about real dogs |
which I wished to show to the terra
cotia pug, that I looked to see what
article so deeply interested the noble
animal. I found he was in the midst of
| a bright sketch of travel in the * ‘Feed
{ yo islands.” Don't tell me a horse
| hasn't human intelligence. The fact is,
| the people who sneer at these stories
, of the remarkable intelligence of ani-
' mals are coarse and unintelligent peo-
le, who know nothing about animals
more people study their brute
companions, the more clearly and cor
rectly do they understand, neigh, com
prehend them. Look at the wild In.
dian; what he doesn't kmow about
horses fsa’t worth knowing. Aad he
believes his horses will 10 heaven
with him. Whether the believes
that the Indian will go ta heaven or
not, we have no means as yel, of ae
certaining. This horse of wine Iam
conhdent, has opinions on ftw subject,
because one of his favorita books is
“Barns 'n’ Oats on Timothy ™ He is
however, 1 grieve to say, 4 heartless
sort of brute; the sound of whos never
moves him. Like all well bred horses,
he has a certain sense of humor, and
one day, when my little boy quoted,
in bis presence, the line, ‘How tall
was Alexander, Pal” the itisiligeut
animal immediately lied, “Box
stall” and burst into a Borse
Upon one occasion, when everyth
on the road had passed us, I overh
him saying to himself, softly, “It pace
togosiow.” He isa horse of content
ed disposition, although sorrow has
left har traces along his ribs. I had to
got the rest of the harness myself
Gare Himself Away. ‘
in absconder from Mississippl got
as far as Niagara Falls without leaving
any trail to be picked up. In
the bridge to Goat Island
that taost of the asses in America had
cut or written thelr names on the
wood worl, and he put his there for
colmpany and was od up next day
—Time. :
THE STORY OF THANKSGIVING, ]
‘And therefore I, William Bradford (by the
grace of God to-day,
And the franchise of this good people), Govern.
or of Plymouth say,
Through virtue of vested power,—ye shall
gather with one accord,
And hold, In the month of November, thanks.
giving unto the Lord,”
The Puritans suffered from famine
after they came to this country. At
last, after nearly a year of privation
they gathered in their first harvest in
the year 1622. They had twenty acres
of corn, and six of barley and pease,
and this was enough to supply them
with food for a long time. Governor
Bradford recommended that they gather
together for the purpose of prayer and
raise, and they concluded to have a
east as well. Bo, grest preparations
were made and the hunters went out
into the forest to find meat for the
dinner. They came back loaded down
with venison and wild turkey. The
Puritans did not forget the Indians,
and they invited Massasoit and ninety of
bis warriors to the feast.
The year after there was a lon
drought, the crops were stunted, an
they seemed likely to starve to death.
A fast day was appointed; for several
honrs the people prayed without stop-
ping, and the rdin began to fall while
they prayed. The crops revived, and
there was a plentiful harvest. Again, a
day of thanksgiving was ordered by
Governor Bradford. Bo, gradually the
custom of appointing a thanksgiving
day after harvest grew to be establish-
ed, the appointments being made by
the governors of the several colonies,
During the revolution, a day of na
tional thanksgiving was annually ree-
After the
appointed such a day, and several
other presidents did the same. In
1863 Lincoln made a proclamation for
national observance, and since then a
proclamation has been issued each
year, the last Thursday in November
ing set aside as Thanksgiving day.
Other nations also keep a day of
thanksgiving.
The Jewish feast of Tabernacles was
a than day. For eight days
not work, but spent
ar-
ing this they lived in booths made of
branches of trees, and great public
ceremonies were held, besides the
Torship and sacrifices of each house-
wold.
hbe ancient Greeks held a great
festival in honor of Demeter, the god-
dens of the harvest, and the Romans
also held a feast after harvest. Both
Greeks and Bomans held their festivals
in September. They had games and
household gods with flowers
|
i
Good Words To A Youny Man
————— —
HENRY WARD BERCHER'S ADVICE TO |
HIS BON,
Los Angeles, Cal, Oct 4.--The fol-
lowing letter from Henry Ward Beech-
er to his son is declared on good suthor-
ity never to have been published. It is
reminiscent of the worldly good sense
of the advice given to Laertes by Pol.
onins, but it is also permeated by the
ywed would produce a good man as!
will as a gentleman. i
Brooklyn, N.Y. Oct, 18, 1878,
You are now for the first time really
isnnched into life for yourself. You go
from your father's house, and from all
family connections, to make your
own way in the world. It is a good
time to make a new start, to cist out
faults of whose evil you: have had sn
experience, aud to take on habits the
want of which you have found to be |
80 ng. |
(1) Youn must not into debt, |
Avold debt as you w the Devil
Make it a fundamental rule: No debt—
rash or Sothing.
wes. Rehgiouns-
(2.) Make few
iy Ghtotve even smallest promise, |
man who means to keep his promises
cannot afford $0 make many. !
3.) Be sermpuously careful in all |
statements. and perfect
frankness, no guesswork, Either noth-
ty.
(5.)Hold yourself responsible for a,
i standard than saShody else
ofyou. Demand more ou
f than anybody else expects of yon,
Keep your personal standard hi
Never excuse yoursell to y f.
Never pity yourself. Be a hard master |
to S Journ f, but lenient to everybody
else.
(6.) Concentrate your foree on your
business; do not turn off.
Be constant, steadfast, ng.
i) The art of maki one's fortune
spend no 3 country any
1a 3astrions man
rich if he stops all leaks
ond io pot
isnot in a hurry. Do not
and customs, and a hundred things that :
will be needful
(12.) If by integrity, industry an? |
well-earned success you deserve well o.
your fellow citizens, they may in years |
to come, ask you to accept honors. Do |
not seek them, do not receive them
while you are young—wait; but when
you are established you maymake your
father's name known with honor in
Hulls of Legislation. Lastly, do not
forget your father's and your mother's
Go Beeause you will be largely de- |
prived of church privileges, you need
all the nerve to keep your heart before |
God, But do not despiss small
churches and humble preachers. “Mind
not high things, but condescend to men
of low estate.”
Head often the Proverbs, the
Testament. May your father’s God ge
with you and protect you.
HENKY WARD BEECHER,
Household Art.
Under this caption: Clara Bunce, the
talented daughter of the late Oliver B,
Bunce, chats agreeably and instructive.
ly in Bunday’s Herald. Many useful
snd practical hints on color and har.
mony are given which will be found
readily available. Speaking of the
dull north side of a house, the writer
says: As an example of what can be
done to relieve the cold, dreary north
side of its dreariness 8 window in Mer,
Harry Fenn's house may well be de-
scribed. In the large hall, into which
all the bedrooms open, is a large win.
Each pace differs from
the next in some gradation of color,
but throughout the who's is the har-
The effect of this
window, through which the real sun
never shines, 18 to shed perpetual sun-
shine, or at least the perfect semblance
that on grayest days that hall has a
message of brightoess and of good
cheer for each and for all. It is hard-
ly possible to say too much for the ex
quisite quality of light diffused through
a yellow medium. It is soft and at the
same time it is bright. It is subdued,
yet full of cheer. In few houses would
it be possible to introdnce Mr. Fenn's
glorious window, but in many is it
possible to heed the lesson taught
thereby and to profit by it. Many =
cheerless and sunlese room could be
made a delight to its oconpant were
the windows but filled with panes of
yellow tints. If it be allowable to
judge by results the hint might be
offered that plants, those devotees of
the sunlight, are cheated by the feign-
ed glow into a rich and rare bloom.
At least such would seem to be the
case, whether it is scientific or not, for
the very window alluded to bears upon
its ledge a wealth of luxuriant n
Not only is yellow, in its many shades,
an excellent substitute for sunshine,
but it makes perhaps the best possible
medium for shading the glare of either
light. There is something
about the light which passes through a
restful, Barely the color that diffuses
a glow and at the same time gives rest
to weary eyes is deserving of general
recognition.
Longevity of Poets.
Oliver Wendell Holmes writes: 1
said to Long eliow that certain statis-
tical ables | had seen went to show
that poets were not a long-lived race.
He doubted whether there was any-
thing to prove they were particularly
short-lived. Soon after this, he handed
me a list he had drawn up. I cannot
lay my hand upon it at this moment,
but I remember that Metastasio was
the oldest of them all. He died st the
age of eighty-four. 1 havo had some
tables made out, which I have every
reason to believe are correct so far as
they go. From these, it appears that
twenty English poets lived io the av-
erage aff of fifty-six years and a little
over. eight American poets on
the list averaged seventy-three and a
half, nearly, and they are not all dead
et. The list including Greek, Latin,
talian and German poets, with Ameri-
can and English, gave an average of a
little over sixty-two years. Our young
poets need not be alarmed. They can
remember that Bryant lived to be
eighty-three years old, that Longfellow
reached seventy-five and Halleck sev.
enty-seven, while Whittier is living at
the age of nearly eighty-two. Teanny-
son is still writing st eighty, and
Browning seems in flourishing health
and vigor at seventy-seven.
Furs are worn enormously, for en.
tire garments, for linings, sud for
trimming all sorts of dresses.
A szanon for the oldest clergyman in
England shows that Rev. John Kllio
viear of Randwick, will be one hundr
aud three months, He preached up to
the age of ninety-eight Tefulasly and
oceasionally last year, ° to
church now regular .
and ocoasionally visits ln.
HYAPTLESS AFRICANS,
The Uncivilized Native Utterly
Devoid of Feeling.
It is the utter absenos of ‘feeling”
of sympathy for their kind, of pity for
sugering, of all that is best in the heart
of a white man, that jars so harshly
on the sensibilities when one first comes
That young
warrior who has been making himself
#0 agreeable about your tent, whose
fine physique you have admired, and
whose amiability has created a favor.
able impression from the first will
take part in a slave hunt to-morrow,
He will think no more of jabbing his
cause she Isn't worth bringing away
than you would of killing a dog, nor
balf so much.
And that laughing young woman
with the intelligent face and sym.
metrical form, who wants you to buy
her bunch of bananas, will see her
sisters of a neighboring tribe brought
in with their necks in heavy yokes,
their babes clinging to their backs,
their pickaninnies. following at their
heels, bellowing with fright. She will
know they are doomed to slavery,
vever to see their homes again; she
has heard exaggerated stories of the
freadful march to the distant coast, of
deaths on the way, of babes sold one
way and mothers another. She thinks
their fale ten Limes worse than it will
in reality be, but she doesn’t care. Ia
the stare of curiosile with which she
greets the shackled wretches as they
sre driven in there is not one glint of
Aypaiiy or pity. On the contrary,
she laughs and claps her hands, for
has not her husband taken a prominent
part in the raid, and may sne not
therefore look confidently forward to
coming In for a necklace or two of
beads from the Swahili traders who
will buy the slaves? She hopes that
ter gallant warrior of a husband will
rontinue to spear his fellow-Alricans,
burn their houses, rip up their belp-
less sand uomarketable old mothers,
chop down their banasa groves and
sell their wives and children into
slavery until she shall become the
most bead-bedecked womam in the
tribe. —Bicycler Stevens.
KING OF THE GYPSIES.
He and His Ohlo Subjects are Live
ing in Prosperity.
A modest brick house standing a lit
tle way back from the street in a
suburb of the City of Dayton, O., is
the property and for a part of the
year the home of a gypsy of wide re-
ute, the heir apparent to a throne in
JAttle Egypt; and here, and bere
sbout, is the rendezvous of a numer
ous band or tribe. This settlement is
widely known as the home of some of
the richest and most influential fam-
{lies of §Ypaydom, among them the
Stanleys, of whom the present head,
Levi, is called the on This Levi
Stanley is a short heavy.set man of
something over 70 years; he is still
strong and active, with 2 ruddy cheek
snd bright eye. Much of his time is
passed with the traveling parties,
while his oldest son, Levi, Jr, is a
stalwart, bandsome man of 50, as
sumes much of the active direction of
wfairs, looking after property, ete.
Lying scattered about to the north ot
Dayton are many fine farms owned by
them. At present most of the farms
are in the hands of tenants, for how-
sver near the Eypey may be to the
primeval man, he has not yet develop-
od a strong liking for the labor of the
primey) occupation.
e traveling and camping parties
are the most Interesting and pictur
saque feature of gypsy life These
usually consist of a single family, the
term family meaniog the whole blood
connection. It may comprise one ora
dozen wagons, and from three or four
lo nearly hall a hundred people
They make long or short journeys, as
directed by the king, stopping at each
place as long as the state of the horse
sud palmistry trade warrants —
“hautauguan.
“Grant Bode Like & Demon.”
‘Speaking of Geseral Graat's fine
borsemanship,” said General N. P.
Backs, *veminds me of an incident
that occurred soon after the battle of
Port Hudson, in which he gave me the
race of my life. General Grant paid
the army under my command a visit at
the period mentioned and was asked
to review it. He brought with him no
horses and I loaned him for the occa
sion the magnifiaant bay horse
which the patriotic citizens of Massa
chusetts presented 10 me when I went
to the front in 1862. All of my old
soldiers will remember that bay horse.
I rode on the review a thoroughbred
black mare, and 1 was in a constant
state of anxiety lest she would run
away with me when warmed. Well,
the troops were drawn up in line and
we rode down the front lines at a slow
», but when we reached the rear
pace. Grant would put the bay at his
utmost speed, and as he was nearly
thoroughbred he could run. Gran)
#at on the bay as if he were part ol
him, but the difficulty I found myselt
in was not to keep up at the regulation
revent my animal
¢ general and ran
fing off with me. Grant rode like a
demon and I after him until the review